Delusion and Devotion
by CedwardPattinsonian
Summary: When Rosalie is set up on a blind date with Emmett by her friends, she is hoping that he is her dream guy. He doesn't fit the picture, but she likes him and they become friends. Later, Rose finally meets her dream man-Edward-but is it him she loves or Em?


**A/N: This is a short chapter, but they'll get longer, I promise.**

**Hope you enjoy. This is a new style for me.**

I brushed my golden curls away from my face until they shone. Okay, so they always shone and I was perfect, but no one could say I didn't try.

I looked in my gold-plated mirror. Damn. I always found myself at a loss for words when I saw my reflection gazing back at me. It broke my heart every time. I searched for some flaw to correct and somehow managed to convince myself that my lipstick was smudged.

I took one sharp, long, hot pink fingernail and scraped it gently across the bottom of my lower lip. The slightest glimmer of magenta color was visible under my otherwise perfectly manicured nail. I hurriedly tried to pick it out and the nail broke. Shit. Every time I tried to fix something, it got worse. I didn't really understand why I continued to fix what wasn't broken. I always applied all kinds of makeup, even though I knew deep down all it did was cover my naturally beautiful features.

I took a deep breath and let it out in a panicked whoosh. I had to force myself to look down from the mirror to rummage through my drawers. Nothing there that would be helpful. But I did know who would have something.

"Alice!" I screamed. She was the one with the bins and baskets of primp tools. She was the one who needed it.

"What?" I heard her irritatingly high-pitched voice rising up the stairs, along with the padding sound of her quick, nimble footsteps. Finally, she arrived with the sound.

"What is it?" She wasn't even out of breath. That Alice was an energy machine.

"My nail broke." It came out as a whine. It wasn't supposed to.

A teasing smile lifted her mouth until it was a full-fledged grin. "And you want my help?"

I nodded. I realized I was being petty and unnecessarily grumpy, but it wasn't every day you met your dream guy. Or, at least, your potential dream guy.

I was meeting my friends for some much-needed shopping. Then, as they had promised, I was being set up with a blind date. Someone they knew, they said. A friend of a friend. Or a cousin of a friend. Or a brother of a boyfriend. Or something like that.

I was doubtful of this guy's merits, but couldn't help hoping he was good for me. Perhaps he would be my dream guy.

He would be green-eyed and would have tousled, perfect, light brown hair, and his skin would be the perfect shade of tan. He'd be tall and thin. And he would be wearing beautiful, crisp, designer clothes and sunglasses. Raybans. I could see them now.

He would be shy, but a great guy to know. He wouldn't tease or make fun of my obsessive, vain habits. He wouldn't care so much about the sex, although he'd be good at it. He'd be rich and maybe famous, and would spend every penny he made on me. Every day he would come home and hand me six shopping bags full of the latest styles from Hollywood.

And he'd bring me flowers. Roses, all kinds of roses. Even if my name hadn't been Rosalie, I'd have been nicknamed Rose. I loved every variety. Red was my favorite, but I loved pinks and ivories, yellows and creams, magentas and fuchsias.

All of this added up to my dream man. He would hold me in his arms every night and tell me he loved me. And the ... well, then we would fuck.

I closed my eyes in utter bliss. If I could ever meet such a man - he had to exist out there somewhere.

"Rosie!" a voice shouted in my ear. I jumped up.

"Oh, Alice. It's just you."

She stared at me incredulously, pursing her lips. "Of course it's just me, who else would be putting up with your antics?"

I ignored the jab. "Antics?"

"'And then we would fuck,'" she singsonged, closing her eyes in mock rapture.

I realized she was making fun of me. No one made fun of me, not even my baby sister.

"Fuck you," I mouthed. I grabbed my knockoff Prada bag and marched down the stairs in a huff. I flipped her the bird over my shoulder and heard a squeal-like giggle. I didn't need her help. I didn't need anyone.


End file.
